“As I just told you, they're with her now. They are performing it at this moment?”
“Heavens and earth, man! Didn't I say in my telegram that it would imperil her life? Didn't I entreat you at all costs to postpone it until I arrived?”
“You did, certainly. But these other medical men, who were on the spot, and could examine her for themselves, were of one mind in declaring that her life would not be imperilled, but that the longer the operation was delayed, the greater would be the danger of atrophy of the optic nerve. Finally, on Wednesday of this week, they fixed upon this morning as the furthest date to which they could consent to postpone it. It was a choice between going on without your presence, and taking the risk of permanent blindness. So I had to let them proceed.”
“You don't know what you have done! You have done that which you will repent to your dying day!!” I groaned, wringing my hands. “You might have known that I never should have telegraphed as I did—that I never should have packed up and taken ship for Europe at two days notice—unless it was a matter of life and death But where are they? Take me to them. Perhaps it is not yet too late. Perhaps I am still in time to prevent it. Take me to them at once.
“I doubt whether they will admit you. They would not allow me to be present, and I am her husband. I have had to walk up and down the corridor, waiting.”
“Not admit me! They will admit me, if have to break down the door. Take me to them this instant.”
“Very well,” he assented. “This way.”
He led me up a flight of stairs, and halted before a door, upon which he gently rapped.
The door was immediately opened by an elderly man, in professional broad-cloth, who said in French: “You may enter now. It is finished.”
My heart turned to ice. For a breathing-space I could neither move nor speak.